Apathy
by Jimmy Candlestick
Summary: Apathy. An absence of emotion. The lack of a response. Batman. A man who tends to avoid emotion. Robin. A boy who cannot live without it. A series of one-shots, only written in response to episodes in which apathy is a trait touched on.
1. Cookies

**Super short. This is basically my response to "Failsafe." Stellar episode. Oh, my, goodness gracious heavens. It's great. But, yeah, I wanted to get this done and up before the next one. Heavens, I love this show. I keep seeing all these stories up for it, and, for fear of "stealing" from them, I haven't read any of the Dick/Bruce ones. So, I figured I should go ahead and write this one.**

**Ugh. I have other things to write, too. Goodness.**

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><p>To be quite honest, Dick wasn't really paying attention to the not-exactly-whispered conference being held between his guardian, Bruce Wayne, and their butler, Alfred Pennyworth. Which was fine by him. This day had been hard enough to go through without listening to Bruce's theories and whatnots.<p>

Dick sighed, rolling one of Alfred's signature chocolate chip cookies back and forth on the counter. He really, really wanted to just not think. But his brain was whirling with the events that had transpired. The emotions, the images, everything. And he just wanted it to quit.

"You okay, Dick?"

He jumped. He didn't remember hearing Bruce come in, and he certainly hadn't noticed when he sat down next to him. Dick couldn't help but smile. "Second time within a week."

Bruce chuckled. "More girl trouble?"

"Hardy har har." The boy deadpanned. And then added, "Kinda?"

Bruce nodded. "Thinking about today?"

"Yeah."

"Hm." Bruce paused, but a shift at the door – Dick, smiling, didn't even have to look to know who caused that noise – urged him to continue. "Look, Dick. None of really figured that it would happen that way. We've done it before within the League, and J'onn assured us that doing it with another telepath wouldn't change things."

Dick regarded him, a light smirk playing on his lips. "Are you apologizing?"

Bruce turned his head ever so slightly to the door, and then back. "Yes. I'm apologizing."

Dick nodded his acceptance. "I wasn't gonna blame you too much anyways."

"Too much?"

The boy shrugged. "I kinda figured that you thought this might happen. But, I also know things don't go according to plan, anyways." He grinned. "That's why your so paranoid all the time."

Bruce smiled back. He grabbed a cookie, took a bite, and promptly got up to grab a glass from the cabinet and the milk from the refrigerator. A gland from Dick told him to get another cup, and a glance beyond Dick told him to continue the conversation. "Do you want to talk about today?"

Dick smirked, again. He was quite enjoying these...subtleties. "Um, sure?"

Bruce cocked and eyebrow.

Dick sighed. "Not really. But," he turned around, "I guess I ought to?" receiving his answer, he again faced Bruce, easily catching the glass of milk sliding his way. "Yes, then."

Bruce sat down. "How did you feel about it?"

"Not sure." The aerialist traced his fingers along the rim of the glass. "I mean, I wasn't a huge fan of it. But...I don't know." He ended lamely.

"Why not?"

Blue eyes flicked up to meet brown. "I guess it was just so...off." He groaned. "There were so many clues, too. In the little things. Not just our reaction – or lack there of – to your all's deaths, and Wolf's death, but details. The flag? Fort-eight stars. Manhunter may be an alien, but you put him up to it, and I know how you are with details." He smiled faintly, but that was lost in his next words. "It just felt wrong on so many levels."

Bruce took a drink. "How so?"

Dick took a moment to break his cookie in half, and dip it in the milk. "I didn't care."

"About our deaths?"

He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. "Yeah."

"Why did that bother you?"

"Because." He spoke quietly, still collecting his thoughts.

To his credit, Bruce didn't push. He waited. He wanted an answer, not vague feelings, and he knew that's what Dick was gathering up.

"I think it's because it meant I didn't love you."

Bruce nodded.

"And, I think, that even though it would have hurt," he paused. "It does, actually." He put his cookie down. "I think I'd rather deal with the hurt, knowing that I really did love someone, and consider them family, then realize that I didn't feel anything because I didn't care for them at all."

Bruce's finger steepled together. "Why is that?"

"Because that would have meant that I lived a lonely life." He looked up at his guardian, his face open. "Bruce, that's the worst life I can imagine."

The man rested his hands on the counter. "Yes it is."

They were both quiet for a moment longer.

"So, yeah." Dick said. "I guess that's what I think of it. I mean, I hate what Meg went through, but, all that I can seem to process right now is how much I didn't feel. And, yeah, I understand that was part of it, but, still."

"I know."

They ate the cookies.

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><p><strong>Review? I'd love you for it. -Jimmy C.<strong>


	2. Tea

**So, here's what I've decided. Anything that comes up in the show that reminds me of apathy shall appear in this li'l buddy, which will now be a one-shot buddy. Should things so continue like this. :)**

**This one takes place after "Disordered." Enjoy!**

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><p>Batman would never admit it, Robin knew, but, the reason the holographic computer in the Batcave made the tapping noise of a physical keyboard was for sentimental reasons. It was one of the few things about him that was so purely human about a man who was so...not human at times. It was one of his likes, Alfred once said, confirming the boy's suspicions. The swift, clear, disorderly organized sound of fingers flying across the keyboard in rapid cadence in beautiful synchronization of thoughts.<p>

And with Batman, his fingers nearly really did fly over the keyboard. He was swift, in actions, thoughts, everything really, Robin couldn't help but ponder as he watched his mentor do his work. His passive eyes never leaving the screen, his fingers stopping momentarily when something new popped up. But, not even maskless did his face reveal his thoughts. Not even maskless did he give any indication that he was aware of his ward's watchful gaze.

"Is something on your mind, Dick?"

Dick shrugged. "Not really."

The typing didn't slow. "What's on your mind, Dick?"

The boy sighed. "I was just thinking."

"And I was asking what you were thinking."

"Look, it's not important."

"Then why is it so preoccupying?"

Dick leaned back, staring at the ceiling, weighing his options.

The elevator doors slid open, and it was a moment before the Butler's footsteps sounded. "Master Richard, it is because of past experiences that I am at liberty to say this: speaking now tends keep pain and bitterness from festering later."

"I'm not harboring potential bitterness, though."

"That's what you think, now, young sir." Alfred stopped to put a hand on his shoulder. "What seems like a simple mind puzzle one day may end up being a minor psychological issue later on in life."

Dick's eyes widened, his brow furrowed, and a look betwixt bewilderment, disbelief, and skepticism firmly planted on his normally confident facade. "Psychological issue? Little extreme, there, don't you think, Alfie?"

"I did say minor," the butler said with the slightest hint of a twinkle in his eye.

Bruce looked up from his computer. His eyes glanced at the butler's hands, and then back up to his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly cut off.

"Tea, then, sir?"

"Yes, please, Alfred."

The butler nodded and then turned heel and went upstairs again.

Sitting back, Bruce brought his fingers to a point as he looked at his young ward. "What's the problem, Dick?"

The aerialist shifted. "Bruce, it's really no big deal."

"It has to do with the training session, then."

Dick glared at the floor. Of _course _he knew that. "Yeah."

"What about it?"

Dick shrugged. "I guess I just wanna know how you do it."

A beat of silence. Bruce's eyebrow raised, he reevaluated the situation. Nothing. "Do what?"

"How do you put aside everything for the mission?"

Dark eyes looked into the wide, almost innocent blue eyes that looked imploringly back. Almost innocent. Almost because, for a boy so young, they had seen too much.

"I mean, how can you set aside the feelings you have for your teammates – your friends – just for the mission."

Bruce's eyes slitted to a dangerously Batman level. "Just?"

Dick's own eyes hardened ever so slightly.

"Dick, this isn't always _just crime fighting._ It may be in Metropolis, or Star City, or Central. But in Gotham, this is different. Here, it's war. And in war-"

"Sacrifices can be made?" Dick stiffened, leaning forward intently. "Bruce, these are people we know! People we've fought alongside with! _Not _sacrifices! You can't just let them die, and not feel anything!"

Bruce straightened suddenly. "Who says I don't feel anything?"

Dick flinched.

"Just because I am able to set aside my emotions for the mission doesn't mean I don't feel the pain it causes to lose, or potentially lose, a friend."

Dick looked away. _Friend. _But he was still a boy, still a child, really. "But, why?"

Bruce's eyes softened. "Because. I can't handle the guilt of countless of other deaths. I can't stand to think of another child without his parents."

Dick looked back up, fleetingly. He agreed quietly. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that." He raised his eyes again. "I just can't do it."

Whether or not Bruce took notice of the cracked voice, he didn't give too much indication. He simply answered softly, "I know."

The elevator door dinged, and Alfred appeared with a tray of refreshments.

They drank tea.

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><p><strong>Hey, guess what. This is the part where you review. :) Thanks! -Jimmy C.<strong>


	3. Hiding

**This one breaks the mould a bit. For one, it's not Bruce, it's Alfred. For another, there's no food at the end (sorry). And, for a third, well...it's not quite about apathy. But, it is. Um. Yes.**

**Anyways, this is actually the product of my processing the passing of a friend's father, just four months, or so, after their mother died. **

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><p>The television set glowed brightly, even in the afternoon's light that came pouring through the windows, flickering as the shot changed, and then again each time the button on the remote was pressed to change channels. The noise was low. Meaningless, really. Just background noise with images to match. Just for the boy who sat in front of it.<p>

The butler stood behind him, behind the couch, also facing the TV. But, he wasn't watching the screen. He was watching the small black head that _just _peeped over the top of the couch's back. He was such a small boy, the man noted. Slight, but fit. And...tiny. And much too quiet.

Yes, the boy talked at length with the butler and the master of the house. He chattered about silly things, and even laughed brightly as the morning sun – often with it, too. But he was much too quiet. And the butler couldn't stand it.

"Why are you hiding, Master Richard?"

The boy spun around, surprised at the "sudden" appearance of the old man. "I'm not hiding, Alfred. I'm right here on the couch."

With a sigh, Alfred walked forward, coming to sit on the edge of a cushion at the end. "I didn't mean like a game of hide-and-seek."

Confused, Dick asked, "Then what did you mean?"

"I mean, you're hiding." Alfred looked so directly at him – just shy of a glare, but an earnest gaze nonetheless – that the boy almost cowered.

Then the boy's eyes lit up. But, in a strange way. They did not light up as when he was delighted, nor was it quite the same as when he discovered a new fact. No, it was a darker light. A light of understanding. A light of fear and trembling, anger and bitterness, sadness and decay. A light that betrayed his inmost feelings. "No, I'm not."

The butler looked kindly at the ward. "Master Richard. It's quite alright to come out."

Dick pursed his lips. "I don't want to."

"I know. But you must."

The young acrobat turned away. "I don't need to. I'll be fine."

Alfred smiled with a melancholic air. "My dear boy, I know you want to be strong. I know you feel like you need to, so you can pick up the pieces, and live on with life, because that's what feels like the right thing to do. But, it's not."

Dick curled up where he sat, he face partially buried between his knees, his arms wrapped around them tightly. "Be quiet."

"No. You need to hear this. You won't admit it, but you are very weak right now. You can't think straight when you're in your right mind, so you hide away. Just because you were sad at the funeral, doesn't mean you can't be sad anymore." Alfred tried to catch his eyes. "Master Richard, you don't need to be strong. Master Bruce and I are here to be strong for you. We are here to help you along the way."

Dick lifted his head slightly, his voice sounding broken. "But, they wouldn't like it. They never liked it when I cried. They said I'm their cheerful little robin. I can't stop being that."

Alfred put a hand on his shoulder. "Even a cheerful little robin stops singing enough to rest and recover."

"But if I stop being that, I won't remember them."

"Yes, you will."

"How do you know?" The boy looked back up to him, tears spilling over. "How do you know I'll never forget them when I stop?"

Alfred leaned in. "Because, when you grieve, you remember them for living, thanking them for their words and love, and honoring them for who they were. You'll be able to be a cheerful little robin again, don't you worry. And you'll be even better for it."

Dick nodded, resting his head against it knees.

And he came out of hiding.

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><p><strong>Well, how'd I do? This isn't to say that it's how my friends are acting. It's just me processing. -Jimmy C.<strong>


	4. Knowing

**So, spoiler alert. Of sorts. Takes place immediately after "Auld Acquaintance." Great episode, by the way.**

**This one was a bit of a struggle. A good struggle. But, a struggle, nonetheless. See, I have a rather difficult time balancing between Bruce's callousness and his apparent love for Dick. It's not sappy or fluffy at all, but, my inner fangirl wills it to be. So, I'm kind of hoping I caught it a little in between. As sappy/fluffy as Bruce can get, without over doing it. I do hope you like it, though.**

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><p>He awoke with a sharp gasp, wide eyed and short of breath. He lashed out with his entire body, throwing himself awkwardly off the strange bed, landing hard on the floor below. His aching body flashed pain throughout and he cried out in surprise. And then he groaned, flopping back onto the floor, only to wince again.<p>

"Robin?" The voice came from the door.

Again, he ignored his body's murmurings and shot up into a sitting position. "Batman?" He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "What time is it?"

"It's six in the morning. You haven't gotten even three hours of sleep." Batman was next to him, suddenly.

He managed a chuckle. "More than you've gotten."

He fully remembered where he was, now. Batman's quarters on the Watchtower. As pressing as the current mystery was, Batman had ordered his young protege to sleep for a few hours, at least.

Batman chose to ignore Robin's statement, taking a seat on the mattress while the boy stood up. "I had thought you would've used the bed, at least."

"I _was _in the bed."

"Then why did you end up on the floor?"

Robin sighed. The lead coverings were sliding into place, hiding the stars and earth from view, blocking the windows. The door was closed, and the lighting turned up. He took off his mask. "It was nothing."

Batman slid his cowl off. "'Nothing' doesn't make people fall off beds like that."

Dick winced. "How much did you see, exactly?"

"I walked in when you were attacking the air." Dick could easily hear the amusement in Bruce's voice. And, honestly? It felt good to hear the man in a lighter mood considering the events of the past twenty-four hours.

"Please tell me that looked way more awesome than it sounds."

"It would depend on your definition of 'awesome.'" Bruce paused. "You're avoiding the answer, Dick."

Dick looked up at him, meeting the man's gaze. "Because, it's nothing. Really, Bruce, I'm fine. It was just a-" He stopped short, biting back his words.

Bruce turned more fully to him. "Just a what?"

The boy barely managed to resist rolling his eyes. He _hated_ it when Bruce did this...prodding answers out of him that the man already knew. "Just drop it, Bruce, will you? It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

Dick hesitated. "It was just a dream."

"What about?" The question was in the air almost as soon as the boy's initial answer.

And, for a moment, Dick considered telling Bruce to back off. But, he couldn't. Snippets of previous conversations were melding themselves together, and Dick really couldn't ignore them. "It was about what happened. It was about..."he brought his knees up. "It was about our fight."

Bruce nodded. He had seen the bruises forming, and he had a very good idea as to what happened, and had so cemented his suspicions with security footage. He hated every frame of it. "Yeah."

"It was just," Dick continued. "You didn't care. And, I know it was the mind control at work, but, Bruce, it was really terrifying. You are so...terrifying when you don't care."

Bruce lowered his head. He didn't know how to respond. He was...ashamed.

"And, honestly, I don't blame you. I really don't." Dick's voice was shaky. "It's just..."he sighed. "I would almost prefer hate to apathy. Because, if you hated me, if the expression I had seen on your face was hatred and anger, I think I would at least know if it mattered to you if I survived or not. But, with apathy...you could go either way. It wouldn't effect you. It would be like I didn't exist."

Silence fell between them. Dick's breathing was deep and strong. Bruce simply stared at the floor.

"You know that's false."

"Yeah."

"I do care."

"Yeah. I know."

"Don't ever think otherwise."

A sniff. "Okay."

They sat still for a while, thinking on just that.

And they knew.

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><p><strong>So? If the ending was a tad bit confusing, I understand. Review! -Jimmy C.<strong>


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